


In the Aftermath

by SimplySix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anger, Angst, Death, Drama, Hurt, M/M, One Shot, Revenge, dribble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplySix/pseuds/SimplySix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't talk about life off of Respawn. You didn't even think about it.  When Death is a shadow why worry about it. It can't hurt you. That is, until the world becomes a shadow itself. </p><p>In darkness, It can be terrifying and cruel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on FFNET and TUMBLR with my Jupiter Green handle. 
> 
> It was originally titled, "In the Arms of Angels."
> 
> It is a one shot based off of a piece of artwork. I want to say it was Ongru? I am not 100% on that now. It's been a while since I have touched this story or TUMBLR. 
> 
> Fixed some grammatical problems and the ending. I like it a lot better.
> 
> Enjoy.  
> Six

There wasn’t any time. That was the problem. If they had, had a _second_ longer, it would have been okay!

Now, everything was in ruins.

The air was silent and cold. There was nothing but smoke and fire curling into the sky. The BLU Industries base at Gravel Pit had been wiped out.

Boots crunched unceremoniously over gravel and sand. Quartz deposits glittered in the dirt under a cloudy, moon filtered sky. The silence was oppressing. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could _find_ him. He had found most of the others. Demoman had fallen near the Soldier at the front of the attack. They had been the first to respond.

Both were gone.

Demoman had gone as he would have wanted---blown up and drunk off his ass.

Soldier, well, he didn’t know.

The BLU Sniper stopped and looked out at the devastation. His eyes searched through broken lenses and he wearily removed them from his bleeding face. He didn’t need them to see far away. He’d be all right without them for now.

The frames fell to the ground unheeded as the Sniper pressed a gloved hand against a wound in his side.

They had talked about what would happen if RED attacked without warning. They had discussed a plan of action, but like always they never followed through.

This must have been the boiling point.

The Sniper turned as he heard a call go up in a clump of trees that had covered the South Side of the Base.

He recognised that voice.

That was the Scout.

He breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

At least the boy was okay. He hadn’t been able to find him.

The Sniper kept moving. He limped forward away from the burning rubble that had once been his station. Judging by the extensive damage of the explosion, he figured the Pyro had perished under the back draft.

He had found the Medic. The Heavy, never being far from him or his gun, had protected the team’s healer when the attack was at full tilt. When he had found them the Medic was trying to salvage his equipment to undo the damage the RED Heavy had caused.

To be honest the Sniper did not think the Big Guy would make it; but he didn’t have the heart to tell the German his opinion. The terrified look in the Medic’s face haunted him and made him fearful for his own partner’s safety.

The Sniper moved faster.

They were going to meet up later after everyone had gone to sleep. It was their ritual. They either ended up in his van or the barracks. It didn’t matter where they ended up. All that mattered was that they _met_ in the same place.

His BLU Spy was _never_ late.

“Spy!”

The Australian’s voice was scratchy and worn out. It reverberated back to him as he cried out his partner’s title. He trembled and looked around the scorched desert. The small shack that had housed mining equipment back in the day was where they met.

Now, there was nothing but shattered wood and smoldering metal.

“SPY!?”

His heart was beating too fast. His feet were clumsy and stumbled through the motions of walking. His voice was reaching a fever pitch.

If he didn’t find him soon he. . .

“Spy. . .!?”

The Sniper stopped cold. His eyes stared with disbelief as he saw the crumpled body of his comrade. His body was physically trembling. The moonlight shifted out of its veil and glinted off of a silver blade stuck in the Spy’s back.

“No.”

The word sounded foreign as the Sniper shook his head. Tears started rolling down his cheeks.

“NO!”

He ran part of the way and stumbled the other part as he fell to the Spy’s side. His hands trembled on the blade of the weapon in the man’s back. His eyes narrowed painfully.

It was the RED Sniper’s weapon. Not the Spy’s.

“SPY! SPY!”

Against his better judgment, the Sniper gently pulled the weapon from the Spy’s back. Blood slowly spurted from the wound but did little else from the ruby stained tear in the Spy’s jacket. The gunman pushed the Frenchman onto his side and felt his throat tighten sharply.

Blood stained the Spy’s balaclava and ran down the side of his face. Blood slowly trickled out of the man’s lips. A dark, garnet line was bright against the blue of his suit as the moonlight filtered through the haze and smoke.

The Sniper’s fingers were shaking violently as he reached out to touch his lover’s face. His eyes narrowed and he sobbed. His arms pulled the lifeless form toward his chest while tears fell against the pale skin.

The Spy’s suit was his pride. He kept himself clean cut and classy at all times. Even now, rumpled and covered in wounds and dirt, the Frenchman remained dignified and regal. Blood covered the Sniper as the gunman wailed mournfully.

“Spy!” he cried hysterically. “Spy! Wake up! WAKE UP, GODDAMMIT!”

The Sniper buried his face in the Spy’s chest and sobbed. His tears stained the Spy’s vest while he shook and trembled. His fingers clutched the body of his lover relentlessly. He could feel the cold setting into his body.

The Sniper lifted his head with tears streaming from his eyes. His face was smeared with blood as he stared at the small tears and jagged cuts in the Spy’s flesh. He could tell that the Spy had fought bravely with the Sniper before falling. By the looks of the wounds the BLU Spy had been strangled by someone from behind while the RED Sniper must have continued assaulting him.

A deep, burning hatred filled him as he pulled his partner up against his lap and held his head to his shoulder. He shook from rage and pressed his hand against the Spy’s ear.

He hadn’t been there to save him!

His lover had _suffered_.

But why?

The Sniper’s eyes narrowed as more tears spilled over them.

He shook his head and pressed his cheek against the Spy’s forehead.

“Don’t leave me!” he rasped.

Again, his voice was foreign in his throat as he trembled.

“Don’t leave me, mate!” he repeated. “Please! Please, don’t leave me here!”

A cold, desolate wind passed over the New Mexican desert. It was a lonely reminder of why assassins did not get close to anyone. When they allowed themselves the luxury of companionship or _love_ they ended up hurting themselves or others. You could not _appreciate_ sentiment if you were hired to kill humanity.

You had to be heartless.

The Sniper curled over the Spy in a pathetic attempt to shake him to life. He wailed angrily and clutched the dead body tighter. If only he had been earlier!

If only he had been there to _stop them_.

“Why didn’cha kill me, too?”

His voice was low and deadly. He raised his face in anger. The animal instinct in his blood kicked in and he shook from the adrenaline pushing through his veins.

“ _WHY DIDN’T YOU KILL ME TOO, YOU MONSTERS!?_ ”

The Sniper was going to scoop up the body of his dead comrade in defeat when he noticed something on the ground where the Spy had fallen.

He carefully leaned forward and reached for several pieces of paper that were scorched or had torn edges. When he brought them closer, the Sniper realised that the objects were photographs.

His eyes were wide as he saw himself and the Spy together in one of their favourite hiding spots in the Badlands. Another photograph was splattered with blood and was of a kiss that he remembered vividly. The last picture in his hand was one from just two days ago.

The Sniper’s eyes narrowed and tears fell to the paper.

They had been to town on leave. It was the first time they had held hands in public since they had started seeing each other.

Four years.

Four _years_. _GONE_.

They killed his lover but not him.

There was a fierce growl that echoed in the night sky. The photographs crumpled in the Sniper’s fist as he looked out fiercely. He seethed with rage as he threw the objects to the ground and grabbed his enemy’s weapon.

The Sniper turned to the Spy and tilted his head upward.

His eyes grew soft as he shook his head.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you, mate.” he breathed. “I promise. . .both of ‘em will pay fer it with their own blood.

“This I _swear_.”

A mournful coyote howl echoed through the night while the Sniper pressed his lips against the Spy’s. He rested there for a moment before setting his lover’s body on the ground and taking the Frenchman’s revolver.

The Australian rose to his feet and grasped both the RED Sniper’s knife and the BLU Spy’s gun in his hands. He frowned and checked the ammunition in the Ambassador.

He grinned.

“Two bullets. Just enough.”

The Sniper lowered the revolver and looked down at the Spy. He slowly held both weapons in one hand. With his free hand, he carefully lifted the hat from his head and held it over his heart. He was silent for a moment before nodding and setting the object over the Spy’s chest.

In a flash of moonlight, a worn delicate photo of him and the Spy was visible inside the rim of the Sniper’s most prized possession.

“I love you.”

The Sniper rose to his feet again and nodded.

“I love you, and I am sorry. I gotta do what I hafta, mate. Don’ be mad at me.”

The Spy remained silent and lifeless as the Sniper slowly turned away. Again, the Australian took each weapon in both hands. His eyes instantly turned deadly as he cast his gaze on the lights of the RED Industries Base.

“No one tortures or blackmails the ones _I_ love.” he said hatefully. “The way I see it that RED Sniper and that RED Spy better hope they have voice left enough to _scream_ when I repay them for their _visit_ tonight.”

The Sniper looked back at the Spy with a nod.

“No one loved me like you did.” he said with a conviction he had not experienced in his entire life. “I intend to keep it that way.”

Without another word the BLU Sniper turned and walked into the darkness. The wind howled through the debris of a former haven. Whispers ran through the sand as the Sniper’s hat fell onto the ground.

The picture was illuminated in the light above.

From the faded colour photo the Sniper smiled next to an unmasked Spy with jet black hair and bright, blue eyes. The Spy’s smile was not sinister and cruel. For this picture, the Sniper had to beg for three months.

After weeks of whimpering and obedience to the Spy’s every whim, the Frenchman had relented and allowed the Sniper this one request. It had been the only one the Australian had asked of him.

During a visit out of the Badlands, the Spy had taken off his balaclava and allowed a picture to be taken of the two of them. After the film had been destroyed and the camera successfully pulverized, the moment was forgotten.

As the moonlight disappeared behind a formidable storm cloud the significance made sense.

It wasn’t the _hat_ that the Sniper had cherished.

It was what had been _inside_ of it.

The Spy was with him always. Even if he wasn’t.

Raindrops fell across the Spy’s face and plopped across the photograph in the Sniper’s hat. The Scout’s voice rang out the Sniper and the Spy’s names as thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning zipped across the horizon while the storm moved closer.

They had talked about what would happen if one of them would die off of Respawn.

They had mentioned the thought in passing when embracing or speaking softly between gentle kisses. The subject was as taboo as their relationship. You did not talk about death when entwined in another man’s limbs. You certainly did not talk about it when that very same man was a hired assassin like yourself.

It was unprofessional.

However, one night during their bath the Sniper had brought it up again.

The Spy, having grown tired of the Sniper’s insistence, turned the question on the gunman.

Almost instantly, the Sniper replied that he could not live without him. It would be as if God Himself had ripped the life right out of him.

Trying to make light of the Sniper’s seriousness, the Spy had told the Australian that he was in the wrong business then.

It was their _job_ to kill people.

The Sniper replied that the Spy was _not people_.

He was his _lover_.

When asking what the difference was the Sniper had taken him roughly by the chin and kissed him passionately. After they had parted, the Australian had told him that _people_ could be contracts and could be enemies. What they _could not be_ was _his_. _People_ could not have his _heart._

It was hard to argue with that logick.

As the rain washed away the blood and the evidence of RED’s treachery, thunder crashed overhead. The photo began to fade and disintegrate against the leather of the Sniper’s hat. Sirens wailed in the distance as RED Base erupted in noise. The Scout was calling Spy’s name and stumbling about the wreckage toward the Frenchman’s body.

The Scout cried out and shook the Spy violently when he had fallen beside him. He was yelling and screaming over the storm without paying much attention to what was beside the Frenchman. When his shaking had stopped and the Spy’s body fell back to the ground, the man’s hand slowly opened.

Rain mixed with blood on a well-kept piece of plastic. Inside of the protective cover, the Sniper and the unmasked Spy smiled happily.


End file.
